


Burning for You

by Icka M Chif (mischif)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blanket Permission, Curses, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Pining, Podfic Available, Post-Apocalypse, Wings, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischif/pseuds/Icka%20M%20Chif
Summary: Prompted bythis post:Not to be sad on main but…consider this: Heaven is not happy about the whole Angel And A Demon deal, so they pull some “A Thousand Words” shit where if Aziraphale sees or tries to communicate in any way with Crowley he loses one of his feathers until he Falls, hoping that’ll keep them apart.Spoiler alert: It doesn't.





	Burning for You

* * *

Aziraphale _burned_ for Crowley. 

His presence, his smile, his golden gaze like a caress on Aziraphale’s skin, each one of them ignited a little fire that scorched his flesh and burned the feathers one by one from his wings. 

Aziraphale hid his damaged wings and smiled through the pain. It was worth it. 

Heaven and its Angels may not have understood, but it was worth it, every bit of agony he endured spending time in Crowley’s presence. 

He closed his eyes for a moment as the fire reached the skin of his unseen but still felt wings, the charred feather turning to dust. Another feather on the opposite wing started to burn, and he opened his eyes to look at Crowley. 

Crowley, who was sprawled out on his sofa like he belonged there, head tilted back, baring the long line of his throat. The first few buttons around his throat were undone, showing a flash of collarbone, baring the tanned skin. Crowley’s sunglasses were set on the table amidst the wine bottles, but his eyes were closed, basking as only the first serpent could. 

It was a somewhat familiar view, Crowley lounging among Aziraphale’s books, but for the first time it stirred more than an appreciation for the sight. 

Aziraphale wanted to _touch_. He wanted to lay down on top of Crowley, press his body against the demon’s, soak in the Hellfire warmth that Crowley exuded. He wanted to nuzzle that neck, press his lips to Crowley’s skin and see if he had a pulse or not. Run his fingers through Crowley’s thick hair, mess it up, smooth it out, and then do it all over again. 

He wondered if this what humans felt like, looking at each other. The craving to touch, to glut themselves on contact. _Skin hungry_ , he believed the phrase was. 

Kissing… seemed strange to him. He wasn’t sure he liked the thought of that. Or anything else that humans got up to behind closed doors. 

But touching? He’d very much like to pet Crowley. Aziraphale wondered what his scales felt like. He hadn’t seen Crowley take serpent form since the Garden, but he imagined that all those smooth scales over strong muscle would feel fantastic against Aziraphale’s skin. 

Crowley moved, lifting his head with the grace of a predator, golden eyes flickering Aziraphale’s way before looking away. “Do you smell something burning?” 

“Nothing.” Aziraphale said pleasantly, taking a sip of wine to cover his lips before his mouth gave him away. He really was a lousy liar. 

Although he did seem to be getting better at it as of late. 

“Seriously.” Crowley opened his mouth, tongue flickering out just for a brief moment. “I know I’ve smelled this before.” 

“Perhaps the cafe down the street is burning the coffee beans again.” Aziraphale offered. “I had to vacate the shop last time it happened.” 

He had, too. Books and burning was not a combination that went well with each other. 

Crowley shot him a dirty look. “No.” He said, expression turning grave. “It’s…”

The feather finished burning, a different one starting up, one of the smaller pin feathers along his shoulder blades. Aziraphale pressed his lips together to muffle the sound of pain and shifted in his seat, trying to roll his shoulders without making it obvious. 

It didn’t work, Crowley’s gaze snapping towards him, eyes nearly molten gold. “Feathers.” He hissed. 

“How interesting.” Aziraphale said, trying to sound calm and placid. The fire reached his skin and he flinched. 

It did not go unnoticed, Crowley rolling forward, perched on the edge of the couch. Aziraphale had a brief moment of panic, trying to stay calm as yet another feather, this one towards the top of his wing, started to smoulder. He nearly sighed in relief at the slightly less intense pain. 

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley’s voice came out as a low hiss, deadly and dangerous, the consonants shaking with the force of his emotions, fear and pain intermingled.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said back, as pleasantly as he could. “Something the matter?” 

“I know this smell.” Crowley rose to his feet, stalking close to Aziraphale. “I _lived_ this smell. Millennia have passed and I could never forget it. It filled my nose, filled my senses as I _Fell_.”

“O-oh?” Aziraphale managed to say, his throat going tight. Oh dear. 

Crowley leaned over him, resting his hands hands on the arms of Aziraphale’s chair, caging him in with his body. Crowley’s eyes had gone completely golden, save for a tiny slit of black in the middle, scales starting to appear on the edges of his face, where skin met hair. He looked more demonic than human, the occult radiating out of him like a warning sign.

Aziraphale wanted to bask in it. 

“Show. Me.” Crowley growled out. “Your. **Wings**.”

Aziraphale stuck his nose in the air and held his ground. “I shan’t.”

“Why _Not_.” The demon was clearly keeping himself in check by his pointy fingernails. It was glorious to behold.

“Because you’ll get mad.” Aziraphale snapped. Then amended himself. “Madder. And I’ll not have you storming off and committing blood feuds!”

This did nothing to calm Crowley. “ANGEL.”

Aziraphale broke, just a little. He never could lie or keep the truth from Crowley. “...I’m not.” He said quietly, unable to hide the waver in his voice, curling away from Crowley for the first time.

There was a moment as the pressure of Crowley’s protective rage seemed to push out on the room as if to destroy it, then it all rushed backwards, deflating like a broken balloon.

“You...” Crowley trailed off, sounding broken. He blinked several times, shaking his head as if to recalibrate it. “What?”

“I’m not an Angel.” Aziraphale said softly, twisting his fingers together. Partly in nerves, and partly to keep from grabbing Crowley and just holding on for comfort. “Any more.”

Crowley didn’t say anything for a long moment, just staring as if broken, or lost.

Then he leaned even closer, so close as he peered at Aziraphale that their noses could have brushed if Aziraphale moved just a little bit. “You’re cursed.”

“Yes.”

“I can see it now, the energy twisting around and through you.” Crowley waved a hand through the air, elegant long fingers twisting and forming mindless shapes. “It’s Celestial.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded.

“Right then.” Crowley nodded once, stood up straight, turned on his heel and began marching for the door, bloody murder clearly on his mind.

“Oh!” Aziraphale jumped out of his chair, waving a hand. The front door slammed shut and locked itself. For good measure a wood bar fastened itself across the door, sealing it shut. “Stop!”

Bugger it, he was not going to lose his best friend over this. 

“No!” Crowley snapped his fingers, the bar disappearing.

“Crowley! **Crowley!** Dash it all, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I _knew_ you’d panic.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to stamp his foot in irritation. He waved again, a chain wrapping around the handles like the serpent Crowley pretended he wasn’t.

“You’re bloody well right I am!” Crowley turned back towards him and yelled.

“Crowley, y-“

“I can’t-“ It took a second to realise that Crowley was breathing too fast, he was sucking in too much air and not releasing enough of it before inhaling again, nearly gasping for breath. “I can’t. The spell, it’s tied to me. My presence is hurting you. I can see it.”

Aziraphale reached for him, and Crowley dodged, weaving out of the way as if his skeleton didn’t exist at all. He didn’t go far, bracing himself, hands curled into fists. “And I can’t. I _can’t_ be the reason you Fall.” Crowley informed him, his voice turning soft and broken. “I promised myself. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh, my dear.” It never ceased to amaze him, how much and how deeply Crowley loved. He approached Crowley again, afraid that his dear friend would shatter like glass, resting a hand on Crowley’s cheek, feeling the smooth scales under his fingertips. Crowley gave a shuddering gasp, then stopped breathing, leaning into the contact.

Aziraphale may have leaned closer too, it was bliss, the feeling of warm skin under his hand, the faintest tingle of demonic energy that Crowley was struggling so hard to contain, lest he hurt Aziraphale. 

He could feel his wings burn, more feathers falling away, but he didn’t care. His feathers weren’t important. “I’m still me.” Aziraphale said soothingly. “Just... not an Angel.”

“You’re turning into a Demon.” Crowley said, sounding like his heart had just broken.

Aziraphale paused, pressing his lips together as he glanced around the room, scanning for any infernal or celestial energy nearby. Crowley was better at it than he was, but he didn’t think Crowley was up to it at the moment.

“Heaven gave me an ultimatum.” He said quietly, speaking as softly as he could. “Give you up, or a feather would burn each time I saw you.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide, tremors running through him.

Aziraphale smiled, trying to radiate as much joy and love as he could to his friend, wrap it around them. He placed his other hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling the thump of the heart inside, the warmth of his skin. “So you see, I’m not an Angel anymore.”

He’d always been afraid that if he wasn’t an Angel, if he wasn’t an instrument of divine love and compassion, then what was he? But in the end, made to choose between Heaven or Crowley, the answer was ridiculously simple. 

They’d been together since the beginning. Aziraphale wasn’t himself without his best friend. 

And Heaven hadn’t been home in a long, long time. Everything Aziraphale wanted, everything he needed was right here, on Earth. 

“They overplayed their hand.” He stood on his toes to lean into Crowley’s ear, whispering the secret he’d realised when he’d first been confronted, even as the smell of burning feathers floated around them. “Angels can’t make choices.”

Crowley gasped and shuddered, the truth of Aziraphale’s words sinking in.

Angels didn’t have free will to make a decision like that. They could not disobey orders, obedience was what they were created for. By giving him that choice, they’d already declared he wasn’t an Angel. 

By taking it, he’d proved it. 

“I told them to ‘jog on’ and gave them the bow finger.” Aziraphale couldn’t help his little giggle of mischievous delight. He never would have thought of refusing an order, much less insulting his ‘superiors’ and giving them a rude ‘up yours’ gestures before spending so much time on Earth. And with Crowley. 

A smile flickered across Crowley’s face, a flash of pride in his serpentine eyes before being replaced by concern once more. “But-“ 

“I’m not becoming a Demon.” Aziraphale assured him, sinking back on his heels. “I’m still me. Little less miracling power at the moment, but no impulse to curse anyone or tempt them into any vices.”

He still had… abilities. He hesitated to call them miracles, the energy was different. Less firmament, more terrene. 

Wild hope seemed to spring up in Crowley’s eyes. “How?” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “Earth wasn’t around when the Lightbringer fell.”

It was the simplest answer he could think of. There had been Above, then after the Fall, there’d been Below. Once the Garden had been created, there’d been something in the middle.

Which is where Aziraphale had been for the past 6,000 years, give or take an hour or two either Above or Below.

He still felt love for everything on the planet, but he wondered how much of that was a reflex at this point, and how much that was just him. Other Angels certainly didn’t love humans the way Aziraphale did. 

He stepped backwards, just a little bit, staying in arm’s reach, and then concentrated. It took a bit of energy to take them out currently, make them visible. It wasn’t like in the beginning, when just the mere act of being surprised could make his wings pop out, making him look larger and more threatening.

He knew how they looked, disheveled, and missing feathers in clumps. It looked like the worst moulting season ever, which really wasn’t far from the truth. His formerly pristine white feathers looked more grey than he would have liked from all the ash. He was in need of a good bath and grooming.

But mixed in were new golden feathers, bright like the Sun or the deserts that once surrounded Eden.

Gold like the flames of his old Heavenly sword. 

Gold like wedding rings, and Crowley’s luminous eyes. 

Crowley made a strange hiccuping sound, a mix of a laugh and a sob, as he reached for Aziraphale’s wings, fingers gently grazing a few of the feathers. Aziraphale couldn’t quite hide his gasp as the white feathers burned up at his touch, turning to ash and disintegrating.

Crowley recoiled, so afraid of hurting him that Aziraphale couldn’t understand anyone not loving Crowley, Fallen or not. He grabbed Crowley’s hand before his friend could retreat, several feathers spontaneously combusting and burning away all over his wings. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Crowley asked, looking terrified. He stayed where he was, trembling ever so slightly. 

“In only the best way.” Aziraphale assured him, putting Crowley’s hand back on his wing, leaning towards Crowley at the sudden burst of flames. 

He might have been trying to invite Crowley over more often in an attempt to burn through them faster. Less likely for Heaven to try to call him back again. Every feather lost was less dominion they had over him.

And there were worse reasons to defy Heaven than love.

Crowley ran a hand across the top of the wing, and Aziraphale groaned, pleasure at the touch mixing with the pain. He wanted Crowley to touch him all over, burn away all of his heavenly markers and be reborn as… whatever he was now. 

“I didn’t tempt you into this?” Crowley asked, expression grave and begging for sincerity. 

“No.” Aziraphale hastened to assure, then paused. “Well. Maybe a little. No more than usual. I’d made my decision long before they’d asked me.” 

That was very much the truth. Any loyalty Aziraphale had for his former side died the moment he spotted Michael in Hell, carrying water to ‘exterminate’ Crowley with. 

They weren’t on either side, Heaven or Hell. As Crowley had once said, they were on _their_ side. And as hesitant as Aziraphale had been to agree to that, he was fully committed now. 

It was a revelation he wished he’d come to sooner, saving them both years of heartache. 

Crowley smiled, radiant with relief, and Aziraphale gave in to temptation, leaning forward and pulling his best friend into a hug, pressing their chests together. It was as delightful as he’d hoped, Crowley solid and warm against him. His wings felt like an inferno on his back and he pressed his face against Crowley’s shoulder, shuddering in a mix of pleasure and pain. 

To his relief, Crowley made a sound like a cough mixed with a laugh, doing his level best to wrap his lanky self around Aziraphale. Feathers erupted under Aziraphale’s hands and he lifted his head from Crowley’s shoulder to watch the demon’s wings manifest.

As a beautiful burnished gold, nearly the same colour as Aziraphale’s new feathers, just a shade or two darker. “Crowley-?” 

“Was getting bored of the black.” Crowley said idly, like it wasn’t a big deal to just change his wing colour. Maybe for the demon it wasn’t, but Aziraphale had no idea how to voluntarily change his shape. “Heaven doesn’t want me. Hell won’t take me back. Might as well match you.” 

There was a slight question at the end, like Crowley wasn’t sure if this was okay. As if this… declaration could be anything other than alright with Aziraphale. 

“Oh, my _dear_.” Aziraphale grinned, nearly dizzy with delight. Crowley smiled back, transforming the hard lines of his face into something a lot softer. Crowley leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s, both of letting a little happy sigh at the contact. 

Aziraphale could feel the love emanating from the demon, practically bathing in it. He’d felt it so many times, a little buzz like background noise, but it was louder now, like Crowley had given himself permission to really feel it, to stop hiding it. It was heady, more rich and delicious than the most expensive wines. 

He wrapped his wings around Crowley, their feathers mixing together in the brightest mix of pleasure and pain. 

And he _burned_. 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [CaptClockwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptClockwork/pseuds/CaptClockwork) and [Hehasabalrogsocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hehasbalrogsocks) for the beta. Also [Eastofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastofthemoon/pseuds/Eastofthemoon) for the wedding band, and [Gullwhacker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gullwhacker) for asking how much of this was for the pun, and not minding that I dumped about half of this into our chat around midnight because brain. 
> 
> The idea behind Crowley's wings comes from [This post by Neil Gaiman answering questions about their wing colours](https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/173209934846/neil-are-crowleys-wings-black-or-white-in-the), which gave rise to a theory that Crowley can voluntarily change wing colour.
> 
> Also posting smaller Good Omens fics over on [ickaimp.tumblr.com](http://ickaimp.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Burning For You [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185753) by [Dolcifool-Podfics (DolciFool)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DolciFool/pseuds/Dolcifool-Podfics)




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